


Sweet enough to make you sick

by Baryshnikov



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Seduction, F/M, M/M, Sexual Content, Sugar, Weaknesses, mild jealousy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 12:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19887829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baryshnikov/pseuds/Baryshnikov
Summary: As far as Abraxas could tell, Tom only had three weaknesses: sex, subjugation and sugar.





	Sweet enough to make you sick

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a different style than I've used for these two before, but I just had to try it out with my favourite pairing.

As far as Abraxas could tell, Tom only had three weaknesses: sex, subjugation and sugar. It was an odd combination, and probably not one Tom would readily admit to having. Rather, Tom was the type that liked to think he had no vulnerabilities, no weaknesses at all, but he did have them. Because Tom was just as human as the rest of them, whether he liked it or not. 

Not that he showed these weaknesses very often, Abraxas only knew because he watched Tom more than most people. He only knew because he bothered to pay attention to every little action that Tom did, even the ones that others would deem to be less important. Abraxas thrived off triviality, and the others certainly knew; Lestrange went as far as to call it pettiness. But it wasn’t. Pettiness was focussing on things that weren’t important, and everything that Tom did was important, in one way or another, so it couldn’t be a form of pettiness.   
For there was not an action that Tom did that wasn’t deliberate. Every stretch to every smile was choreographed for a specific purpose, usually, one that was less than savoury to most people, but they never knew that until it was too late. That was what was so dazzling about Tom, how much he cared for details. 

He almost always thought of everything. 

Except for his weaknesses. 

Abraxas suspected that Tom didn’t even realise that he had them, or that he showed some of them a little too obviously; practically flaunted them, like a peacock does its feathers. To Abraxas though, Tom wore his weaknesses like military stripes, their presence an indication that he saw himself as secure enough, at least subconsciously, that no one would even think of exploiting them. 

Except, maybe, someone who thought they could get away with it. 

Someone like Abraxas. 

The easiest weakness to spot was Tom’s need for subjugation; it was infused into everything he did. After all, it wasn’t exactly a secret that Tom liked people to listen to him, that he liked to be obeyed, and absolutely loathed repeating himself. When their friends were proved wrong, it was always Tom who was smiling at their misfortune. And it certainly wasn’t a _nice_ trait to have, but there was so much power in Tom’s tendency to kick people when they were already down on their knees. He made it look so _good_. Just the way he kneeled down to their eye line, his hand on their cheek, and the way he stretched his mouth into a smile. That was the smile that lingered on the edge of Abraxas’ every dream. The smile he swallowed every time his fingers strayed between his legs in the heat of the showers. The smile he’d give anything in the world, just to have it burning on his skin every once in a while. 

Simply put, Tom appeared to like people when they were broken.

He had a weak spot for them. For the sad ones who couldn’t bear to argue any more. The most obvious example was Avery, opinionated Avery, who just always _had_ to be right. Tom had broken him in under a month. Stripped back that dogmatic, demanding, exterior and pulled out the sweet straight strands that made up his core, like spun sugar. Somehow, Tom had found the little things, the tiny little chinks in Avery’s armour, and just kept tugging at them. Unlinking one loop at a time, until there was a gaping hole that Avery didn’t even see him making. 

It had been such a _gorgeous_ process to watch.

But significantly less gorgeous when Abraxas had caught sight of Tom, sitting in the boy’s dormitory with Avery on his knees, his pretty eyes opened so wide and Tom smiling in that special way. He knew then that Tom had indulged himself in his weakness for subjugation; tasted it, chewed it, and now, swallowed it whole. 

And it had hurt.

Quite a lot. 

A nagging in his stomach, a painful twisting like a small child twinging on a taut wire. He wanted to be the one that Tom smiled so sweetly at, the one that Tom crushed beneath his heel, the one that Tom pulled apart and pushed back together over and over again. Abraxas simply wanted to be the one that Tom indulged himself in. That lovely addictive thing that Tom was more partial to than he would ever admit. 

He wanted to be Tom’s weakness. 

And that led him down an entirely different rabbit hole, towards an entirely different weakness, one that Tom would definitely deny he had. Because anyone who knew Abraxas knew he wasn’t good at being subjugated; getting down to his knees for someone else was not one of his greatest strengths. It was _demeaning_ , and he wasn’t going to do it, even for Tom. But, fortunately, Tom had other weaknesses. If anyone asked, Tom would almost certainly reject that he had any sort of liability when it came to sex, but if anyone _actually_ bothered to watch him as much as Abraxas had, they would see he most certainly did. 

Though, Abraxas suspected, it wasn’t the actual act that Tom was weak for, rather, it was everything else. It was every single feeling that surrounded sex. The power in getting someone to do something that he wanted, for no other reason than he _wanted_ it. The adoration and adulation and admiration that Tom could only ever get from denying people over and over until they just snapped. He liked being _needed_ by people, so craved by them that they sought him out for their satiation.

_That_ was what Tom liked. 

And Abraxas had watched from the sidelines, watched in silence as the weakness, though it could hardly be called that, more… a susceptibility crept into his life. When they were younger, Tom had been considerably more private about his affairs, but in the last year or so, that, had changed. Nowadays, he has the audacity to just lean over and murmur something to Druella. Something that made her blush, and lean in closer to him, than anyone else was ever allowed. They fitted nicely together, Tom and Druella, Druella and Tom. Both possessed that fluid elegance that bordered on just the right side of indecorous.

And then there was the way Tom looked at her. Not quite with love, but somewhere between it, and hunger. The sort of look that said he knew _exactly_ what he wanted. Abraxas would have been very much lying if he said he didn’t want Tom to look at _him_ like that, just once. 

_Only once_. 

But instead, he’d been ‘lucky’ enough to keep running into Tom’s weakness; and having it slap him in the face every, single, time. It had been a complete accident, but then again, if they didn’t want people to watch their indiscretions, then they shouldn’t have started something so indiscreet in the common room. So what, if it had been after ten and everyone else was in the dormitories. 

They shouldn’t have been in a public place. 

All he really remembered was getting back late, he couldn’t remember why now, but he’d been late, and he’d walked in on Druella spread across Tom’s lap. Tom, himself, had been lying back apparently just enjoying the view, but when Abraxas leaned closer, still in the shadows, he could see Tom’s hand under her skirt. His fingers doing _gorgeous_ things, if the slow subconscious shift of her hips were anything to go by. He’d stayed in that corner watching for too long. 

Swallowing too loudly Just watching how Druella chewed on her lip and kept her eyes squeezed shut. Just watching how Tom sat up, never stopping whatever wonderful thing he was doing with his fingers, and how he kissed her as she moaned into his mouth. 

Because she _needed_ him. 

The next day, Abraxas kissed Druella just to get a taste of Tom. 

And she had told him to get over himself. That _everyone_ knew why he was kissing her. But, fortunately, for him, Tom liked both sides of the Atlantic. At least that was how Druella decided to put it, and Abraxas sincerely hoped she hadn’t been talking about America, but, then again, you could never tell with Druella, she had such a strange way of putting simple things. 

But if it were true that Tom didn’t just like girls, Abraxas would endure as many weird euphemisms as Druella was willing to dish out. 

Though she had nothing to do with Tom’s last weakness, which Abraxas supposed stemmed from his childhood. Not that Tom was especially _open_ about that part of his life. But from the smatterings that Abraxas had managed to stitch together, he knew Tom’s childhood wasn’t exactly _happy_. It was a misery that Tom had wrapped up into apathetic insouciance. He said he didn’t care for it.

But Tom was a liar. 

It was just another product of his dishonest youth. There was a certain way Tom smiled when he was lying, barely perceptible unless you knew exactly what you were looking for. But Abraxas knew. He knew that glitter in Tom’s eyes and how his mouth was spread just that little too wide. Perfection taken too far. When he smiled like that, he was lying, and he always smiled like that when they talked about their lives before school. 

Somewhere between the misery of his youth, and the relative bliss of his current life, Tom’s biggest weakness must have developed. Sugar. That was it. Sugar; it was a weird one, but certainly tamer than what Lestrange or Mulciber liked. And, once Abraxas had noticed it, he could hardly believe how he’d managed to miss it for so long, because Tom wasn’t subtle about his tastes. 

Tom wasn’t subtle about anything. 

It was in the way he so obviously coveted anything sweet. The way he always added extra sugar to foods that absolutely did not need any extra sugar. Tom was the only person Abraxas had ever met who liked caramel tea with added sugar, at least two teaspoons. And when he did things like _that_ the others definitely noticed; more than noticed, they watched in disgust, though Lestrange was the only one to voice the opinion. But he was hardly the best representation of attitudes because _he_ always drank his coffee blacker than black. 

Nevertheless, _anyone_ who bothered paying attention, could tell Tom had a thing for sweet foods. The sweeter the better. Anything so sugary that it was sickly to everyone who smelled it, caught his attention, and he’d force all of them to endure watching him eat it. Sometimes Abraxas suspected it was to spite them for turning their noses up at it, and anyone who grimaced, or even worse, tried to share his food, had better hope that Tom didn’t see them. Because when Tom was around something sweet, it was similar to when a cat had a mouse in its mouth. He was certainly just as protective, having gone as far as to once hex Mulciber for having the audacity to try and sneak a spoonful of his treacle tart.

Then there was the near-endless supply of sweets Tom seemed to have to suck on during the day, which was probably why he never ate lunch or dinner, only ever pushing his fork around the plate. It had started with strawberry laces dipped in sugar, much to everyone else’s disgust, then it had moved onto liquorice allsorts, and currently, it was lollipops. Always strawberry. No one could tell where he got them from, and most people didn’t ask; it was just accepted that Tom would always be wrapping his tongue around something sweet. 

It was a strange mix of an oral fixation and a sugar fetish. 

Abraxas couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen Tom _without_ something sweet when they were all talking together in the common room. The others could never remember because they didn’t really care. Abraxas wished he didn’t care as much as he did. He wished that he wasn’t concerned with what Tom was doing with his tongue, but he was. He was very much preoccupied with watching how Tom swirled that lollipop around his tongue, how he liked to dig the point of his tongue into the top as though it was a far more interesting endeavour than listening to all of them. 

It didn’t distract the others in the same way. 

Apparently, they didn’t think highly inappropriate thoughts whenever Tom closed his mouth around the lollipop and swallowed down the sweetness. Abraxas had never wanted to be a lollipop more than when he watched Tom unwrap one and run his tongue all over it. He bet he’d taste sweet, sweeter than sweet, burning the back of his throat with the sensation of cloying saccharine. 

Abraxas wouldn’t mind third-degree burns if it meant he got a taste of Tom’s mouth. 

But for all his staring, Tom wasn’t returning the gesture. To him, Abraxas was just like everyone else, a nothing and a nobody. At least that was what it felt like when Tom was around, forcing a permanent apathy to spread across the room, secured by silence, everyone fearing to be on the wrong side of his temper. And if Tom wasn’t going to pay attention to him at his own accord, then there was only one thing for it, really. 

A careful exploitation of weaknesses. 

After all, Abraxas was a Malfoy, and Malfoys _always_ got what they wanted. Usually, seduction was an easy game that required no real strategy. _Normally_ , Abraxas just batted his lashed and smiled that diamond smile with more money than substance, and he could have anything he wanted. 

Except for Tom. 

Tom just rolled his eyes at that smile.

Which was why Abraxas was going to have to rely on his wits a little more than he’d like to. Not that he was dumb, just lazy, but, then again, Tom was probably worth the effort. Actually, there was no probably about it, he _was_ worth the effort. Just the possibility of getting a taste of Tom was worth being the embodiment of sex, subjugation and sugar. 

And if anyone could pull it off, it was him.


End file.
